


White as Diamonds

by mytimehaspassed



Series: Off By Heart [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - High School, Drug Dealing, M/M, Prostitution, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-10
Updated: 2010-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:53:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23117275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mytimehaspassed/pseuds/mytimehaspassed
Summary: When you dream of your mother, you dream of fire.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Off By Heart [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1661665





	White as Diamonds

When you dream of your mother, you dream of fire. The day Sam was born, your mother sat pale in the hospital room and whispered reassurances in your ear as she stroked Sam’s pink skin. She will never forgot you. She will never love him more than you. You are wanted. You are her son. You belong to her and she will never leave you.

Sam would wail and she would clutch him to her breast and run fingers through your hair. Your father was so happy, he cried, his arms around you, his stubble scratching your skin as you clung to him. Your mother was weak, but perfect, radiating golden beauty underneath the hospital sheets.

Your mother told you that she had named Sam after her father, a strong man whom you had never met but pictured to be like your own father, tall and dark haired with rough, calloused hands. She would whisper this to Sam when she thought you were asleep, tell him all the things he would grow up to be, all the things he would do when he was big and strong like his father, like her father before her. She would tell him that she would never leave him, either. That the angels were watching out for all of them.

Your mother died six months after Sam was born. There was a fire in the night. You were lucky to be alive. The police said there must have been an electrical problem, and they bundled you and your father in wool blankets while you watched your house burn to the ground. You imagined your mother in her white cotton nightgown, her golden hair aflame, her mouth opened in a silent scream. The firemen came back with ash on their clothes and smoke in their lungs and said that her body was found curled in Sam’s room, like maybe she was just trying to reach out for her son one last time before the fire caught her.

You don’t know why you’re alive and she isn’t. You don’t know why your father found you and Sam and not her. You don’t know why you three were so much more important.

Your father always told you that God wanted her up in Heaven where she belonged, where she could be surrounded by her mother and father, by you someday. His eyes were red rimmed, but he never cried. You both knew he was lying.

***

Castiel kisses a cluster of freckles on your shoulder and whispers against your skin. Sam’s in the next room asleep with his thumb in his mouth even though you told him not to do that, even though you told him sucking thumbs was for babies and he’s a big boy now. The door is locked and Castiel is kissing you between puffs on the blunt you rolled for him. You have a stash of drugs that he won’t let you sell and he just wants to get rid of it, so he sits in his room and smokes and fucks you and slips you money if you need it. You always need it, but his stack never dwindles.

You want to ask him where he gets it all, but you’re afraid of overstepping your boundaries. You have Sam to look out for and you have everything to sacrifice.

“My parents will be home in two weeks,” he says, his tongue dancing.

“We can find a place by then,” you say, and he tightens his fist around your arm. You wince, but don’t speak.

“Don’t go.” His mouth is sharp on your neck. “I’ll deal with them.”

You have bruises now, but nobody ever says anything. “They’re just gonna let a drug dealer and his eight year old brother stay in your guest room forever? No questions asked?”

“No questions asked,” Castiel says.

You bite your lip until you can taste the familiar swell of copper in your mouth. “I can’t believe that,” you say. You’re pushing it and you both know it.

His hands on you, they haven’t been soft since you moved in. “Believe it,” he says.

***

You sell even though Castiel tells you not to. You sell to high school kids and to their parents, you sell to college kids and to their professors, you sell to lawyers and doctors and cops. Everybody just wants that piece of you.

You never hear from Adam ever again, but the ex-boyfriend who calls you girl names, well he keeps leaving you messages asking you where you’ve been. You erase them before Castiel notices, before he can even ask. You start buying from one of your father’s biker friends only because he promises you really good shit. He’s used to selling cocaine or brick, but he’ll sell anything to take back the market from the Jamaicans or Hispanics, he’ll sell anything for a price and isn’t that just familiar.

His hands are oil slicked and he leaves stains on the bags he gives to you, but you don’t mind it. “Don’t tell your father,” he says with a grin. When he smiles, the wrinkles reach his eyes. “Don’t tell him I’m helping you with this shit.” Like your father would win an award for caring or something, anyway. Like he wasn’t pushing shit up his nose faster than you could sell.

Your father’s friend, his hands are puckered and raw and he says, “Just don’t tell anybody you got it from me.”

His fingerprints left in grease, “Just don’t bring me into it.”

You smile and tell him not to worry.

***

It’s not like it’s a competition or anything, but you fuck every guy you sell to. It’s just something to get Castiel off your mind, the bruises that have started to show on the insides of your wrists, on the corner of your mouth. It’s just something to get his touch off of you.

There’s a boy from your high school named Danny who has dark hair and blue eyes and likes to kiss you soft and slow. He slides his hands over your chest and brushes the hair from your face and maybe for awhile you can pretend he’s someone else, maybe for awhile you can pretend you’re somewhere different, but when he whispers your name against your temple, it’s not the voice you want to hear. He has hope in his eyes when you kiss him, but when he’s finished, you slide out of his bed and don’t look back.

***

You’ve never tried drugs, but there’s a first time for everything. Castiel brings you to a club for the night and you’re sweat slick and high and his hands are all over you. Earlier, he had pushed a tiny pill into your mouth with his tongue and you think it may have been E, but you can’t be sure. You didn’t want to say no, anyway.

There’s music in your veins and you can feel it, smooth and warm, and it’s dancing all over your body, spider webbing across your hands and arms, flush against your face. Castiel feels rough, but you like the pressure of his skin on yours. His mouth kissing your neck, his hands dipping below the waistband of your jeans, you’re moving and closing your eyes and you just want this part to last forever. You just want to feel this until you die.

“More,” you say, and your voice is hoarse, low under the bass. “More.” You push back against him, you can’t get any closer.

Castiel slides his hand in yours and leads you to the bathroom, pushing open the heavy door. It’s cool inside, but you don’t want that. You want the heat, you want the pressure. You fall against him and he strokes your hair, his mouth hungry against yours. “More,” you moan, and he pushes you into a stall.

He’s not slow or smooth, but you want it, you want all of this, his hands gripping your hips so hard you know they’ll leave bruises. His teeth biting and biting your skin, his tongue licking away the blood. “Like that,” you tell him, bucking, your hands against the dirty stall door. There are obscenities written in Sharpie and pen, but you close your eyes and keep moving, keep dancing.

“Like that,” you say.

Castiel never makes a sound.

***

Sam never asks about your mother, but he looks just like her, and that’s enough. When he smiles, you can remember a brush of knuckles across the back of your neck. When he laughs, you can remember the smell of her perfume, a soft hint of gardenias in the sun. You can remember her charm bracelet tinkling together like the wind chimes you used to have on your front porch. You can remember the way she sang along to the radio as she washed dishes in the sink, her hands full of soap and porcelain. Her hair the color of gold.

You never tell anyone about her, about the fire. She’s yours and you want to keep her with you until you can’t remember anymore. She belongs to you and you will never ever leave her.

***

Castiel’s parents come home on a Tuesday. You’re just putting the dirty clothes into the washing machine when you hear the door slam, the click clack of heels on the foyer tile. Castiel’s upstairs playing Operation with Sam; you can hear laughter even with the water running. You wanted him with you when you met them for the first time, but Castiel’s mom rounds the corner into the kitchen and you’re there alone.

“Hi,” you say. You’re barefoot and you’ve left your shirt somewhere upstairs.

Castiel’s mom doesn’t look surprised, but she looks young. “Hi,” she says, bright. “Are you a friend of Castiel’s?” She’s wearing an expensive looking business suit with high heels. Her hair curls around her face.

“Yeah,” you say, but only because you wouldn’t exactly call him a boyfriend.

“Well, I would say food is in the fridge, but it looks like you’ve made yourself at home.” Her words aren’t spiteful, but they feel like it. She arches an eyebrow, but her cell phone starts to ring and she picks it up before it can finish, rolling her eyes and barking out instructions without even a greeting.

She walks off into the sunroom just as Castiel’s dad comes in. He doesn’t even look at you, just marches into what you assume is an office, slamming the door behind him. You stand there gazed for a minute, before walking back upstairs.

“Your parents are here,” you tell Castiel when you walk into the room. He’s trying to lift out a wishbone with the plastic tweezers, but it hits the side and buzzes when you speak. Sam yells that he’s won, triumphant, and does a victory race through the door, brushing past you as he leaves.

“Thanks,” Castiel says, leaning back against the pillows. He un-tucks a blunt from his ear and lights it.

“You don’t even,” you start, but he rolls his eyes.

“No, I don’t care,” he says, exhaling smoke above his head. “They don’t care. As long as I keep my mouth shut and stay out of their lives, I can do whatever the hell I want.”

He stands up and you close your eyes, ready for his touch. He traces your jaw, your lips, his fingers are dry. “I thought my family was fucked up,” you say.

“You don’t know the half of it,” he says, and brings your mouth to his.

***

Your father leaves messages on your cell phone. You’re not sure what they say because you erase them without listening. You can imagine he’d ask you to come back or to give him the money that you owe him. You can imagine he’d ask you to do a lot of things you don’t want to, you never will. He wouldn’t beg or plead, but he’d be holding the phone with white knuckles, he’d be gritting his teeth.

If you were there, you wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye.

If you were there, you’d be afraid he’d hit you for leaving.


End file.
